I’ve been without my Blog for almost a week! Days and days without blogging! Oh, the horror, the HORROR. . .

Oh pooh.

Yes, I’ve missed it terribly. This blog is such a part of me that to NOT blog daily is like not breathing.

However, I’ve been to Las Vegas with my sisters and my SIL and I’ve had a wonderful time and somehow a computer wasn’t associated with any of it at all, unless we assume that a penny slot machine is in fact a kind of computer and it refused to give me thousands of dollars for my penny because it knew I had in a way abandoned my home computer and being that computers are all conjoined in the brain it wreaked revenge on said abandonment by denying me my picture on the wall of a casino holding a huge check with $1,000,000 on it to thus inspire other people who come to Vegas with ten bucks to gamble with, to invest it in the penny slots.

I went to Vegas with ten budgeted gamble-bucks, and I tripled it. Now, most people wouldn’t call thirty-four bucks much of a win, but when you consider that I expected to lose it all, and that I didn’t play anything but the penny and nickel slots, it’s not bad, not bad at all.

My favorite is really blackjack, but New York New York didn’t have any cheap tables and I wanted to make it last as long as possible.

We took a cab to Fremont Street specifically for two things: the light show, and the heavily advertised two-dollar blackjack tables.

The light show rocked, but the “two-dollar tables” ads should rightly have read “two-dollar table.” We did find one casino there with a two-dollar table, but only one casino and only one table. That one table had a huge crowd around it, watching and waiting their turn, so we gave up and went back to the Strip. Truth in advertising, huh. Those guys will miss OUR big money, that’s a fact. Fifty bucks ain’t to be sneezed at.

Well, not by us, all combined. Casino owners use hundred dollar bills to sneeze on, so our small amount won’t be missed. Too bad, too; if there had been the advertised tableS, I would have posted something more flattering and perhaps mentioned the Four Queens anonymous casino by name, and lots of other po’ folks might have flocked there.

But then, they don’t need me for anything.

We stayed at New York New York and it was fantastic. Gorgeous and clean and friendly. It wasn’t overly crowded, either. I will have to say that I don’t think small children belong in Vegas, but if parents want their kids exposed to drunken adults and scantily clad women and alcoholic beverages and smokers wherever you look, well, values differ, don’t they. Personally, I don’t think adults who bring little kids to Vegas could possibly have as much fun as adults who come unencumbered. And my usual opinion about public behavior for people of all ages still holds, whether the people are in Vegas, or Disneyland, or WalMart. Or on an airplane, but that rant will come later.

Something I did miss was the ‘ding ding ding’ and then the rush of coins when someone won at the slots. That’s all been replaced by silent machines and a strip of bar-coded payout paper. A casino without those sounds just seemed odd.

We walked all over the Strip. My SIL and I saw “Mamma Mia” at Mandalay Bay, and after that we went through the Shark Reef. Awesome.

We had delicious crepes at the Creperie, in Paris. We walked through the shopping malls of Aladddin, and Paris, and the Wynn, and the Stratosphere (the sisters went up to the top, but SIL and I stayed in the shopping area cuz we’re too cheap to pay the toll), the Venetian, and Harrah’s, and Bally’s, and Mandalay Bay, and Caesar’s Palace, and Excalibur. Others whose names I can’t recall at the moment, too. Oh, and the Bellagio.

The Wynn was just simply gorgeous. Their highly advertised waterfall was beautiful, but the waterfall show was, once again not to mince words, really stupid. If you go to Vegas without your kids, and don’t care to run into anyone else with kids, this is the place to stay. No strollers allowed, and nobody under 18 without an accompanying adult. If you have kids, don’t go to the Wynn. It ain’t rocket science.

The Bellagio was magical, in my mind and memory. I’ve never stayed there, but I always loved the elegance of it. I loved the beautiful flowers, and that curving staircase, and the fountain show, the best.

Well, the light show is still there. The beautiful glass flowers still cover the lobby ceiling. But where were the flower arrangements? Where was the staircase? They were gone, and in their place was a tacky display of electric trains and little buildings that looked like a sixth grade second place science project, or something you’d see in a state park nature center. The flower arrangements beside each hotel check-in clerk looked like. . . well, to quote my Tumorless Sister, the arrangements she used to make for the Special Adult Students’ dances were classier. We’re talking a row of sunflowers, a foot of stem, and a row of little petunias at the bottom. All that was missing were dandelions in a paper Dixie cup. What’s up with that? Is this some kind of folk art I don’t know about? Because it was, not to mince words, butt-ugly.

Bellagio, my Bellagio, what happened to you? And why were you playing country music while your fountain tried to dance the ballet?

Our flights just barely missed the panic that is now a part of airport life right now, too. I had scoured the house for change, so I’d have enough money to participate a little, and all that change made a big dark spot when my purse went through the x-ray. They pulled it aside, pulled me aside, and methodically went through my purse, whilst wearing latex gloves just in case. I’ve often thought, myself, that rubber gloves would be a good thing for going through the contents of my purse. Sometimes there are strange and messy things in there.

Quickly ascertaining that nothing was being hidden behind the nickels except some pennies, they gave me back my purse and let me go through security with no more hassles. On the return trip, I set off the alarm when I walked through the security thing. Why? I have no idea. But they patted me down and let me walk through again and this time no bells rang.

Why is it always me? I am the Neville Longbottom of any group.

Some screaming teenaged girls played Slapjack on the folding tray behind my Tumorless Sister all the way to Denver. People can be so incredibly thoughtless and stupid at times.

I do not think that airplane seats in the cheap section should lean back. People who lean back are thoughtless; don’t they realize that when they lean back, the person behind them can not use his/her tray, or even hold a magazine? Rude, rude, rude.

And if your baby poops, please take it to the restroom to change it. Immediately, please. Airplane air is very old and doesn’t circulate or disperse odors very well; try not to add to it. Thank you very much.

The usual screaming toddler was there, of course, as was his sister, the singer. One of them screamed solidly for the entire flight, and the other one sang the same two songs over and over, as loudly as possible, for the entire flight. The resulting counterpoint was not pleasant.

If you are extremely fat and your gut will completely cover the control panel on the arm, please don’t sit by me. I know you people ask beforehand where I am sitting, just so you can be by the window right beside me. It can’t always be a coincidence. And when I have to lean to the left because you take up all of your own space plus half of mine, and I have no space in front of me because the rude cow in that seat was leaning back, it makes for a really long ride.

Wouldn’t it be far more reasonable if each traveler had to pay for the amount of room he/she took up, than to make somebody who paid for a full seat also accommodate pieces of a person who should have paid for a seat and a half
?

Otherwise, the flights were great. I love to fly, and I seldom get a chance to.

And now that I’ve slept with my SIL, I feel that I know her much better than before. Heh.

Seriously, she’s a fantastic person, and I love her dearly. I just wish I could see her more often; it’s a long way from Idaho to Indiana. And any time spent with my Tumorless Sister is time well spent. My Other Sister? I love her dearly, and I’d do anything for her, but I don’t understand her and I never have. Now that we are this old, I don’t know if I ever will. But it’s always good to see her, anyway.

Oh good grief, people, she wanted to order an egg salad sandwich in a fancy restaurant!!!!!! In VEGAS!!!! EGG SALAD!!!!! I laughed and said ‘oh, let her if that’s what she really wants” but Tumorless and SIL wouldn’t have it.

It was a wonderful trip, and I loved every minute of it except for the Reclining Cow and the Globules of Fat intruding into my personal paid-for space.

We had layovers both times in Denver, and I had planned to call some precious and wonderful and awesome friends in that area but the planes got in late and there wasn’t time.

It was also good to come home again. But then, coming home is also part of any journey, and sometimes, it is the best part.